


The Misadventures of Gul Dukat

by Yel_Ashaya



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Arcades, Camping, Dominion, Dominion War, Drunken Damar, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Kanar, Lost Vorta, Traffic jam, crackfic, emo music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 04:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yel_Ashaya/pseuds/Yel_Ashaya
Summary: Dukat, Damar and Weyoun take a detour of Earth and discover all it has to offer! Camping, arcades, hot chocolate, getting stuck in a traffic jam... you name it! And, poor little Weyoun gets lost!(Originally published on fanfiction.net, where I'm called 'Yel Ashaya')Disclaimer: Star Trek, except my OCs, is not mine (sadly)





	1. Chapter 1

Dukat twiddled his thumbs. Literally. The sun streamed in through the dark, dirty windows of the SUV. He savoured the warm sun as it hit his face. He smiled. At least, he thought, that would take his mind off the increasingly frustrating matter at hand. For some time, anyway.

As a puffy white cloud drifted past on the aquamarine blanket of the sky, the streaming sunlight came to an abrupt stop. He frowned, his eye ridges almost knitting together. Now though, he had nothing to preoccupy himself with.

Sighing heavily, he looked straight ahead. The now darkened sky overshadowed and obscured much of what was set before him, but he could not ignore the steady stream of traffic. The view took up the entirety of his vision. Craning his neck, he glanced out of one of his wing mirrors. "Oh for Prophets' sake!" he murmured, catching sight of the unmoving backlog of traffic that was promptly bunching up behind him.

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he resumed his loathsome gaze out of the front windscreen. Stretching his arms, flexing his fingers, he gripped the steering wheel.  _Why on Cardassia did I not just go with Damar?_ he cursed himself silently. He knew why he hadn't done so. Damar's car was filled with the sorrowful, intense aroma synonymous with alcohol. Never before had Dukat actually felt like hating Kanar.

Weyoun's car, now, that would be a problem. Because, well, he didn't actually own a car.  _What was it the Vorta had said?_ Oh yes, he  _preferred_  to take the bus. Apparently, public transport was more fun. It allowed Weyoun to integrate himself with the common people.  _In that case, Prophets help the common people,_ Dukat mused.

Again, he looked out of the windscreen. _Hmm,_ he considered,  _I'll have to clean that at some point. Maybe after I win back Terok Nor,_  he thought with a prematurely triumphant smirk.

Realising that the traffic congestion would probably be lasting longer than the Occupation, he took one hand off the steering wheel and flicked through the paperwork he had in the glovebox. Today was the fourth day running he had led his PADD at home. Ziyal was always telling him, 'Father, remember your PADD. You know what happens when the Founder gets mad'. The digging up of that memory made him shudder. He could take it, somewhat, when the Founder was angry with him. Her rubber face, though, was what really creeped him out. Weyoun, though, was someone who he would certainly not like to be interrogated by. And, not just because Dukat was haughty and self-obsessed. No, it was the clone's... Well,  _everything._ Those eerily violet eyes. Those awful patchwork clothes. That cherubic, soft voice. It all made Dukat ill.

Snapping out of that painful reverie, he started to read the paperwork he had previously picked up. Leafing through the pages, he moaned. Car instruction manuals. Menus from Quark's. Car radio leaflets. That have him an idea. He switched on the radio and began to flick through the stations.  _Heart_  - no, thank you. _Kiss_  - For the love of the Prophets! _Absolute 80's_  - that's a possibility. Kerrang! - Hmmm. He turned the dial and then settled it on the last station. He turned up the volume. He was undeniably annoyed when he recalled Weyoun's boasting about his 'Good ears'. With the volume up to 11, he nodded along with the introductory beat. That was, until he heard the first few lines being sung.  _Screamed._

_'Darkness. No parents..._

_Darkness. No parents... '_

He grimaced as the chorus kicked in.  _Ugh, is this really what Damar listened to?_ Maybe the Kanar had finally gotten to his head.

Quickly snapping off the radio, he took another glance up at the road in front of him. Not that he could see much of the actual road. Nope. Just as he had thought. Not a single vehicle had budged.

Directing his blue gaze down at the small CD rack, he looked through his collection. Finally, he came across something that was worth smiling at. He put the disc into the machine and relaxed in the leather chair. He leaned back as the beginning beat started.

_'Love comes quickly, whatever you do_

_You can't stop falling (Ooh ooh)_

_Love comes quickly, whatever you do_

_You can't stop falling (Ooh ooh)'_

Dukat clicked his fingers to the beat and nodded approvingly.  _What a good song,_ he though appreciatively. The song finished after three or four minutes or so and he settled back into driving position. He took his hand off the handbrake and resumed his drive, smiling.


	2. The Arcade

"I don't know  _why_  you insisted on coming here," Dukat declared dismissively, rolling his blue eyes.

The Vorta beamed at him and simply shrugged his small shoulders. Looking the Gul straight in the eye, he said jovially, "I like games."

Dukat harrumphed and crossed his arms over his chest; it wasn't the first time his uniform cuirass had gotten in the way. He smirked.

Weyoun continued his perplexed gaze in the direction of Dukat, and then finally went back to the matter at hand. That is, if you could actually call it a 'matter'. He stared down the machine that was set before him, the curiosity brimming in his purple eyes.

Sat on a metal chair behind the two squabbling aliens, was Damar. Clutching his ubiquitous glass of Kanar, he frowned at the sight.  _Prophets,_ was he bored right now.

Damar had never been a patient man; never one to keep his true feelings bottled up. "Look," he said harshly. "Can you just play the damn game?"

Weyoun span around, the Vorta's piercing, violet eyes concentrating hard on him. Weyoun's brows knitted together. "Have patience, Damar," he said warningly.

_Pfft,_  Damar thought to himself scathingly.  _Was that supposed to be a threat?_  Shaking his head and laughing quietly, he drank a little more of his delightful Kanar.

Finally, it seemed, Weyoun had tired of teasing Dukat and Damar with his constant waylaying and dithering about. He stretched his fingers, interlacing them, and the bones clicked. Smiling with a great degree of ill-deserved self-satisfaction, he let his gaze fall upon the machine in front of him.

Dukat sighed. Heavily. Harshly. "Weyoun," he said firmly. "Put in the token."

Fumbling about in his pockets, the clone pulled out the green, hexagonal token. He brought it up to his face for a moment, studying it closely. He was intrigued. "How very interesting," he announced, his eyes full of wonder.

Still gulping down his Kanar, Damar groaned. "Do as Dukat told you," he said gruffly.

Over his shoulder, but clearly not being bothered enough to full turn around, Weyoun shot him a withering look. "I think you're forgetting something, my dear Damar," he said with a false smile. "I am yours and Dukat's superior. You cannot order me around."

A muscle in Damar's jaw twitched and he pursed his lips, ready to deliver to the Vorta some incredibly rude comeback, but he thought otherwise when he caught sight of Dukat's disapproving look. "Of course," Damar muttered.

Gleefully, Weyoun nodded. He looked, again, at the token that he was still fingering with such intense intrigue. At last, the time came when he began to lose interest in the apparently fascinating inanimate ephemera. He searched the machine for someplace where he could deposit the object. Dukat, arms still crossed over his cuirassed chest, pointed a slender finger at the coin slot. Weyoun looked at him curiously for a fraction of a second, before getting distracted by a new song coming onto the sound system.

"This is odd," he observed, craning his neck up.

Looking down on him, Dukat frowned. "Weyoun," he reminded him

"Oh, yes," the Vorta said realisingly, placing the token into the coin slot. A stupidly broad smile played on his lips as he waited for something to happen.

"I'm gonna go over to the bar," Damar announced, after waiting barely a nanosecond for the machine to respond to the recently deposited token. Dukat glowered at his second in command, as if to say, 'Don't leave me with him'.

Smirking, Damar picked up his glass and swallowed the last droplets of the tar-like beverage. He carried it over to the bar and returned moments later with another full glass. At least, it  _would have_ been full, had he not taken a swig of it on the short journey back to the arcade.

He resumed his seating position, to see Dukat leaning wearily on the side of the machine, whilst Weyoun giggled childishly for some undisclosed reason.

"Haven't you won yet?" Damar asked Weyoun, his tone questioning and amused.

Weyoun seemed to ignore him. His hands were poised on the controls, one on the joystick, the other on an adjoining keypad. Flashing lights adorned the top of the machine, with fluorescent colours as decoration. It actually surprised Dukat that the little Vorta wasn't more amused by the bright hues.

Weyoun moved the joystick with his left hand and concentrated his vision on the mechanical hand as it traversed the transparent container.  _Founders,_  Weyoun thought, _why could you not give my people better vision?_  Straining his eyes, he could see better, but only by a tiny margin.

"Will you stop breathing down my neck?" Weyoun snapped at the Cardassian.

For a moment, Dukat looked taken aback. Quickly, though, he retorted, "Perhaps if you actually won instead of dithering, I wouldn't have an opportunity to breathe down your neck."

Frowning momentarily, he let that comeback slip. He leant forward, his forehead almost brushing against the window on the machine. Squinting and staring, his hands moving delicately on the controls, Weyoun managed to get the crane to latch on to something

Dukat leant in and stared at the crane arm. "Now, bring it forward," he directed Weyoun.

The diplomat cast him an unsure look.

"I was only trying to help," Dukat told him, before turning his attention back to the game.

Appearing unconvinced with Dukat's short argument for a small amount of time, Weyoun considered. He carried out the move that the Gul had suggested. He heard a clanking noise as the thing on the end of the crane hook fell into the delivery tube and it came out of the machine. Weyoun hunkered down and picked out the object. A toy. He smiled at it, at the same time also looking troubled and confused.  _Why can't we Vorta appreciate aesthetics?_  he wondered, almost... sadly.

Dukat thwacked him on the shoulder playfully. "Well done, Weyoun," he announced. "Now, lets leave."

Weyoun nodded but kept his steadfast gaze on the toy. He smiled approvingly. If he could appreciate aesthetics, he would have certainty labelled it as cute.

Damar leapt to his feet and downed the rest of his Kanar. "Can we go now?"


	3. Gingerbread Men

"This is so ridiculous," Damar muttered, picking his teeth absentmindedly.

Dukat looked at him, and slapped him in the back, near the shoulder blades. "Oh, Damar," he joked. "Can you not just relax for one moment?"

Damar managed to - just about - ignore his commanding officer's challenging gaze. "There's no reason for me to relax," he answered gruffly.

"If its any consolation," Weyoun announced cheerfully. "I think this is tremendous fun." He beamed.

Dukat noticed the Vorta's incredibly wide smile. "At least one of you two does," he murmured in annoyance.

The high street was busy. Very, very busy. As the three of them ambled their way nonchalantly through the myriad of people; of all different kinds of species, they couldn't help but be drawn to the vivid colours and displays which were all around them.

The Vorta, of course, had no need whatsoever for such a bustling and involving centre for their communities. What would be the point in that? That, Weyoun didn't really know, and he doubted he ever would.

The Cardassians, of course, had town centres, city blocks, shuttle stations, landing pads, popular meeting points. However, it was still very much on the other end of the design spectrum, when compared with Terran design. The architecture of the Spoonheads consisted mainly of sharp turns, parallel edges. It's colours were majorly dull; browns and maroons, with white being a rarity.

During his abundance of free time on Bajor doing 'good deeds', Dukat knew what beauty was. Concerning both woman and architecture. The skies on Bajor were so very vivid: the troubled people and lifestyles completely opposite from the beautiful landscapes. Well, the  _once beautiful_  landscapes, as Gul Dukat would so often be reminded, not least by Major Kira.

Dukat was snapped out of his bewildering reminiscence by Weyoun. Unsurprisingly. "Dukat?" the Vorta asked expectantly. "Stop daydreaming."

Dukat, at first, said very little. He simply shot a glower in the clone's direction. "I was not daydreaming," he snapped.

"You were," Damar added playfully, in a seemingly better mood than one that he was in earlier on.

Weyoun nodded in stern, but plainly amused agreement. "Meh," he decided, with a slight movement of his right hand, symbolising dismissal.

Dukat harrumphed and pointlessly straightened his cuirass. The useless movement caught Damar's already weary attention. "Lets just get on with it," he muttered loudly.

Being quite obviously happy for the distraction, Gul Dukat nodded. He picked up the pace, and Weyoun and Damar walked by his side, looking up at him every now and then.

"Where are we even going to go?" Damar muttered under his breath, looking around.

Weyoun was too busy to even notice Damar's question. He was craning his neck over the promptly building crowd, trying desperately to take in all of the new, exciting, strange sights which were always all around him. One moment, his curiosity would bring him over to an odd-looking shop display. The next moment, he would be found staring at some holo-movie poster. Sometimes, he would even be watching intently some group of people, human or otherwise, as they engaged in social interaction. That is, of course, until one member of the entourage happened to catch sight of the little Vorta staring at them.

"Something to eat?" Dukat suggested. "All I've had is some taspar this morning." He frowned. "I'm a little hungry."

Thoughtfully, Damar nodded. "Sure. Why not?" He yanked Weyoun around, who, for one moment, bore a rather perplexed expression. The Vorta got his bearings and then proceeded to follow Dukat and Damar as they continued their little trip about the small town.

Weyoun had never seen quite so many flashing lights. Whooping inhabitants. Bright colours. Blue skies. Such a variety of people and moods, shops and ideologies. Kerrill Prime was certainly starting to seem very, very different. They were polar opposites, in fact.

"This looks acceptable," Dukat observed, stopping to scrutinise the outside of the building beside which they stood.

Damar frowned, the ridges around his greying blue eyes almost drawing together. He wasn't convinced. "A cafeteria?" he asked, incredulous.

Dukat nodded slowly, sternly. "Why not?" He shrugged and then faced Damar properly. "We don't always need to go to a  _bar,_  you know."

Suddenly starting to appear a little uncomfortable with the present situation, Damar shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Yes, thank you," he replied, a hint of condescension glinting in his reply.

Wryly, Dukat looked at him. He ambled in through the sliding doors of the cafeteria, and the other Cardassian and the Vorta soon followed him. Promptly, they reached the till of the shop. Dukat stopped at the menu sign. He rubbed his chin in half-thought. Having made up his mind, he picked out a pastry and studied it. "What in the name of the Prophets is this?" he remarked, perplexed and amused by the foodstuff in his hands. Shrugging, he put it onto his newfound tray. If it were poison, though, why anyone would want to poison him was beyond Dukat, then he would give it to Weyoun to test it.

"Excuse me," he called over the counter. "Don't you have any Cardassian food?" He completed his query.

The cashier shook her head. "No, sorry," she quickly replied. She brushed a strand of dirty blonde hair from out of her face with the back of her hand. "It's in high demand. Our next shipment won't be in until Tuesday."

Dukat shrugged and then thought no more of it. "No matter," he said simply, with a dismissive, brief wave of his hand.

Weyoun had, in the meantime, selected something for himself. He proffered it to Dukat. "I fail to see the point of this exercise," he declared. "I can't  _taste_  food." He could only detect texture. Sometimes, though, Weyoun did find himself actually becoming jealous of other species who were actually able to detect and use such senses. Still, as he had to continually remind himself, it was the Founders who had made him who he was. He was not one to question the work and choices of gods.

Dukat nodded, not really listening, as always, to the Vorta diplomat's words. He, instead, studied the item Weyoun had picked up. It was small and hard, orange in colour. It smelled quite strong, but of what, he did not know. It was, even more peculiarly, shaped like a  _humanoid._ It's eyes were drawn on crudely, amusingly, with some sort of gelatinous substance.  _How idiotic,_  Dukat thought to himself. It reminded him of the Female Founder, but he didn't dare tell Weyoun that; he did not want the Vorta to have a tantrum in such a public place.

Hovering stupidly behind the two of them, Damar was sighing. He was constantly glancing around himself. Though, no one could blame him. He was a Cardassian - and not just any Cardassian - Gul Dukat's second in command. And, he was in a room surrounded almost entirely by humans and members of other  _Federation_  species.

"Aren't you hungry, Damar?" Weyoun asked, smiling innocently as usual.

Damar glared at him. Stiffly, he shook his head. "No," he replied in a gruff tone of voice. He considered, and then added, "But, perhaps, I could do with a drink."

Weyoun stepped back, after looking at Damar curiously for a short while. Damar stepped forward, so that he was now stood where Weyoun had been mere seconds ago.

Dukat met his gaze. "Yes...?" the Gul began expectantly.

"I'll just have the, uh..." He stopped, thinking. He scanned the small room interior, until his watchful eyes came across the menu board. He read it through quietly. "Just.. Anything," he then decided.

Dukat nodded, looking perplexed for a short while.  _What about water?_  he though mockingly of his first officer.

After the food had been ordered, they located an appropriate place to sit, with the help of Weyoun. They each took their seats. "That is a hell of a lot of latinum," Dukat muttered to himself, glaring angrily at the bill.

Weyoun, obviously, had no idea what he was talking about. Currency was such a ridiculous notion. He had already tucked into his gingerbread man.

Damar fingered the bottle in which his drink was, feeling the weight of it in each hand. Finally, he swallowed a few mouthfuls. He pulled a face as the cold liquid ran down his throat. "Ugh," he said in disgust.  _Elderflower, really?_

"Damar." Weyoun looked up at him, having finished his 'meal'. "It does look odd seeing you without Kanar being within walking distance."

Damar met his comment with a stern glare. He knocked back yet another gulp of the curious liquid. It was cold and the bubbles were quickly dissipating and was the colour of a Klingon battle cruiser.

Dukat, too, had started to eat his interesting pastry. He was flicking through files from Cardassia's Detapa Council on his PADD, being careful to shield the display from any passing waitresses or nosey customers.

"When will we be taking Deep Space Nine?" Damar asked Dukat.

"At the rate at which Gul Dukat is planning the attacks," Weyoun answered instead. "I'd say: when you stop with the Kanar."

Words could not describe how much Damar hated Weyoun. A scowl would not suffice.


	4. Hot Chocolate

Corat Damar sighed. He rarely sighed. Usually, he would just growl or grunt or harrumph, but this time, it was a sigh. Sulkily and frustrated, he stood away from his position on Deep Space Nine.  _Prophets,_  was kicking Sisko out hard work. All he wanted right now was to sleep. And, of course, a nice, big bottle of Kanar. '29 vintage, obviously. Being a Gul certainly did have its advantages.

He made his way over to the room that was adjacent to Ops. Sat behind the desk was his commanding officer.

"Ah, Damar," Gul Dukat announced jovially. "I can't tell you how much I've missed this office," he declared, smiling madly at the hunk of Cardassian-designed metal that was set out before him.

"Yes…, sir," Damar said reproachfully. He started forward and gestured to the Kanar, where Dukat nodded, signalling for a glass of his own. Handing the drink over to the Gul, and keeping one for himself, Damar cleared his throat. "Weyoun said you wanted to talk," he announced gruffly.

Dukat nodded slowly, meditatively. Pursing his lips in thought, he amended Damar's statement. "Yes, well," he began softly. "In some respects, I suppose, he is right."

"I don't understand, sir," Damar let on, raising an eye-ridge in slight confusion.

"I've been trying to get a maintenance team down here," Dukat elaborated. "But, apparently, they're just  _too_  busy." He made a face, as if he could not really believe that his engineers were otherwise engaged.

Damar frowned, his eye-ridges almost coming together. "What for?" he quizzed.

The Gul too another sip of his drink and swirled it around in the glass, staring into it. "The damn replicator doesn't work," he replied simply.

"Ah," Damar exclaimed. "If you want, I'll call Maintenance Team Alpha down here right away."

Dukat shook his head in response, declining his friend's helpful suggestion. "Thank you for the offer, but I've already tried everything." For a short moment – a short, rare moment – he was silent.

"What did you need to replicate?" Damar asked him, getting a little perplexed. "You have food here, don't you?"

Dukat chuckled lowly and shook his head. "Unlike you, Damar, I cannot survive simply on Kanar." He grinned.

A muscle in Damar's jaw twitched ever so slightly. "Sir?" he said in a small voice.

"Oh, Damar," Dukat began, sobering up. "I didn't mean it like that." Sighing, he continued, "I have been attempting – for some time, to integrate human customs and ideologies into my leadership methodologies."

Damar winced and then frowned. "You have?"

"But, of course," Dukat iterated. "The Occupation, it ran so much more… efficiently, when the Bajorans were beginning to finally accept Cardassian domination."

Slowly, thoughtfully, Damar nodded. He wasn't sure exactly where Dukat was headed with this. "What does this have to do with the broken replicator?" he asked.

Dukat smiled through thin lips. "Human food is supposed to be rather… nice," he explained, with an empty gesture of his hands. "Or, so I have heard."

Damar lifted an eye-brow. "So, you… wanted to have it replicated?"

Dukat nodded approvingly. "Precisely."

Damar frowned lightly, before slowly started to slink off, away from the desk.

"Damar?" Dukat called after him. "I haven't told you what I wanted replicated."

Damar hurried back. "Yes, Dukat?" He was hovering in the doorway.

For a moment, Dukat appeared as though he were considering something. Nothing as important as battle plans or ship alignments, but something trivial. And, Damar's was correct. "Cocoa," Dukat replied readily.

"Cocoa?" Damar repeated, confused. He'd never heard of that before.

"Yes, Damar, that I what I said," Dukat said firmly. "Hot cocoa."

"You want… hot cocoa?" Damar said, not knowing whether he should feel alarmed or blatantly amused. As far as he knew, cocoa was a child's drink. Not something for a man. A man who was a Cardassian. A Gul. Commander of the Second Order.

Dukat nodded firmly. "Yes," he replied crisply.

Damar was just about to take the short step out of the Gul's office, when Dukat called out, "And, Damar?  _Don't_  have it replicated."

"But, I thought…" Damar began, confused, before his voice simply faded away from him.

"No, I  _would've_  had it replicated. I've assigned Gil Letek to cover you for today. This station must still have its kitchens," Dukat revealed.

Damar simply moaned. "Sir?" he asked. "You want  _me_  to  _make_  you it?" He frowned. Heavily.

"That's correct," Dukat announced. "And, to make things easier, I've also told Weyoun to come along with you."

Damar slapped his own face in annoyance and skulked off into Ops, where he glared at the officers who had the guts to look him in the eye. He was thankful that he'd had that little glass of Kanar not that long ago. Still, there were very few things in the galaxy that could numb the pain that Weyoun's droning, irritatingly calm voice could inflict upon others,  _especially_  Damar.

Later on in the day, Damar returned to Gul Dukat's office. Dukat snapped off his computer screen and regarded his second in command. Beside Damar stood Weyoun, who, as always, was grinning inanely for no apparent reason. "I trust you've been successful?" Dukat queried, looking the pair of them over. Damar looked like he would rather be having tea with the Founder than be where he was right now. Weyoun, on the other hand, was positively beaming.

Dukat smiled thinly. Damar proffered the requested drink to him and Dukat took it gratefully. He studied it with curious eyes. "I hope you two have reconciled your… differences?"

Damar did nothing but grimace.

"It has been  _quite_  illuminating," Weyoun announced happily. He smiled up at Damar, who shuddered in barely concealed contempt.

Dukat nodded. "Good." He looked down at the mug of cocoa. "Where are the marshmallows?" he asked of them.

The Vorta and the other Cardassian exchanged rather puzzled looks. "The marshmallows?" Damar quizzed.

"Yes, Damar, the  _marshmallows,"_  Gul Dukat repeated. "Where  _are_  they?"

"Damar didn't say you wanted anything more on your drink," Weyoun added, perplexed.

Damar just stood there, struggling to maintain his nonplussed look.

Disapprovingly, Dukat shook his head briskly. "I shouldn't have had to tell you, Damar," he explained. "It was obvious."

"It was not," Damar countered hotly.

"Still," Dukat said defiantly, putting an end to the little spat. "I need my marshmallows."

After having successfully carried out Dukat's irritating, ridiculous request, Damar and Weyoun returned to the Gul's office. Stepping into the room, Damar handed Gul Dukat the cocoa with the marshmallows sitting on top of the now almost melted whipped-cream layer.

Dukat grinned at it appreciatively and took a sip. For a short while, his sharply-featured face was calm, but then, a frown creased his grey features. "What on  _Cardassia_  is this?" he demanded, pulling out a circular-shaped fruit and showing it to the two men.

Unable to resist a smirk, Damar shrank back a little. It was Weyoun's turn now to answer the Gul's out-of-character, ridiculous, childish questions.

Happily, Weyoun informed Dukat of the seemingly odd object. "To be honest, Dukat," he elaborated. "Your… request was a little dull. I decided it best if I added something of a speciality from my homeworld."

Dukat scoffed. "You're a clone. A genetically engineered diplomat, Weyoun," he stated bluntly. "How can your homeworld possibly have a  _speciality?_  I thought Vorta couldn't taste and such." He frowned.

Weyoun let out a short chuckle. "Yes, well…" he began softly, nonchalantly. "The wonderful Founders have been so gracious as to allow my people to keep their love for ripple berries and kava nuts."

"You put  _nuts_  in my cocoa?" Dukat said, alarmed. He glared at the Vorta – and Damar – the glinn would not be getting away from this easily, either.

"Of course not, Dukat," Weyoun said, still giggling. "I really am starting to wonder if our decision to let Cardassia join the Dominion was a wise one." Sobering up, and noticing the steadfast scowls of both Damar and Dukat, he quietened down – a little. "Only a few ripple berries."

Dukat continued to glare at him, but then his expression managed to slowly regain its neutrality. He bit into the berry and instantly pulled a face. He grimaced and winced, sticking his tongue out in obvious disgust. "Oh, Prophets!" he exclaimed. "This is r _evolting!"_  He thrust the mug away from himself and watched in slight contempt and annoyance and relief as Weyoun sauntered out of his office space.

"Sorry about that, sir," Damar apologised, hating the fact that he was even  _speaking_  on Weyoun's behalf. It was, though, to be true, Dukat's fault to have sent Weyoun along with him.

"Don't be, Damar," Dukat replied softly, sighing. "I think I share you dream of having that irritable Vorta thrown out of the nearest airlock."


	5. Fatherhood

Dukat stared in horror at his daughter. His only daughter. He approached her gingerly. "Ziyal," he said sternly, the voice of a father. "You are  _not_  going out in  _that."_  He cast a gesture in the direction of her, pointing to her dress.

Ziyal took a step away from him. "Why not?" she asked him, her dark eyes challenging him to say otherwise. He knew teenage girls were known for being handfuls, but he was not expecting  _that_  level of backchat.

Gul Dukat stood squarely in front of her. He shook his head in solid, unmoving disapproval. "I will not tell you again, Ziyal," he declared sternly. He had been expecting her to come up with some witty remark, and had indeed been bracing himself for it. However, it soon became more than apparent to him that his metaphorical action would probably not be needed.

Ziyal stood before him – stoically, not moving. She looked down at her dress and sighed. "Father,  _why_  not?" she argued with him.

He took her aside, and shook his head. "Because…" he began, as his voice grew quieter and quieter. "I am your father."

Ziyal scoffed and stepped away from him. "My  _father?"_ she repeated, her usually serene, beautiful features creased in a mixture of amusement and confused alarm.

Dukat kept quiet, wondering what exactly she would come up with to say next.

"You're only my father when it suits you," she quipped, staring him down.

"What is  _that_  supposed to mean?" Dukat asked her, confused, raising an eye-ridge in perplexity.

Shaking her head, Ziyal stepped further away from him. "You left me and my mother for dead," she reminded him, darkness suddenly covering her face.

Dukat frowned heavily and shook his heaod. "No, Ziyal," he started quickly, in an effort to put things right. For once. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh, really?" Ziyal said, almost sneering. "Well, she's dead now," she explained, sniffing when she found herself forming images of her late mother in her mind. The coldness of her own tone almost shocked her.

Dukat nodded firmly, but the movement was not without loss of conviction. "I had  _no choice,_  Ziyal," he informed her firmly. "How many times do I  _have_  to tell you?" He instantly regretted his choice of words, but was thankful for the fact that his daughter didn't decide to answer his unfortunate, rhetorical question. Dukat sighed. "If I let you and… your mother stay with me, the Resistance Cells would've found you," he explained dutifully. "I  _had_  to leave you. I had to be sure you were safe."

Ziyal, however, was not entirely convinced with her father's words. She could hear the conviction in his voice; the feelings of sadness and longing when he mentioned her mother. She noticed how his eyes darkened and lost their spark; they were on the verge of showing actual tears, something which she had never witnessed before on her father.

"I love you, Ziyal," Dukat said softly, holding her at arms' length. He looked down into her eyes.

Reluctantly, Ziyal cast her gaze up to her father's face and she studied his expression. "Father…" she started. "I love you, too." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I'm sorry."

Dukat pulled her into his arms. "I am sorry, too." He was silent, and then spoke again. "But, you must understand that you mean everything to me, Ziyal. I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to you."

"Father, I am not a child anymore," she reminded him as she pulled away. "There is little you can do to stop me from leaving."

Dukat nodded. "I know, I know," he said quickly, hushing her.

She stepped back and went over to the door, where it slid open with a slight hiss. "I have to go, now," she told her father.

Dukat bid her farewell. "Make sure you're back by eleven," he ordered.

She smiled at him and nodded, where she was met by another figure. He held out his hand and she took it. Dukat, however, was not entirely content to simply let the fiasco carry on without his complete presence. He hurried out onto the porch and approached the as yet unknown man who was stood beside his beloved daughter.

"Who are you?" Dukat demanded, glaring at the slightly shorter man.

The other Cardassian looked a little taken aback, but he held his grip on Ziyal's hand and studied Dukat curiously. "My name is Elim," he revealed. "Surely your daughter has told you about me?" His gaze flickered up at Dukat, and then down to Ziyal as she stood beside him.

Dukat frowned and pursed his lips, casting his gaze over to Ziyal. "No…" he said meditatively. "She has not."

Ziyal let go of the hand of the man called Elim, and pulled her father aside. "I couldn't tell you," she told him. "I knew you'd go off on one, like you are now."

Duakt raised an eyeridge. "I am  _not_  'going off on one'," he iterated bluntly, feeling both embarrassed and frustrated.

Quickly, she looked over at Elim, who was stood awkwardly by in his suit, looking around the yard. "You are," she countered his point. "You'll soon be blowing things out of proportion." Her face softened. "Father, you'll be all right if I go. Everyone's going. I can't just stay at home."

Dukat nodded slowly, taking that newfound information in. "Go on then. You have fun."

"Its prom, father.  _All_  my class are going," she elaborated further. "I promise I'll be back by eleven."

"Wait," Dukat continued. "What did you say his second name was?"

Ziyal blinked. "I didn't," she replied. "But, it's Garak."

She kissed his cheek and then proceeded to return to her date. As they left, Dukat could do nothing except hover on the porch, shivering as a cold spell drenched body, staring wide-eyed, and his mouth hanging open stupidly.  _Garak._  Where had he heard  _that_  name before?


	6. Portable Problems

Gul Dukat was not a particularly happy man. His mood was evident in his heavy sigh. Moaning, he buried his head in his hands. Lifting his head up, he took a quick, almost nondescript glance around him.

_Prophets,_  Dominion Headquarters were boring. He missed  _Terok Nor_  - more than he thought he could ever say. There was so much life and action on what was now called Terok _Nor._  So many different people. But, the most important factor was obviously that he was in control. Everyone listened to whatever it was that he happened to command. Not to mention the multitudes of Bajoran woman frequenting the place.

At Dominion Headquarters, though, all Dukat had to look at; to think about; to talk about, was the Founder. Weyoun. Damar. Sure, Corat Damar was his friend and his most trusted inferior. However, listening to Damar moaning about how foul the Kanar he had had recently was or how much of a failure his love life was; having to put up with the frustratingly plaintive expression of Weyoun; the Female Changeling with her flaking skin disease which made her look like a ton of Earth's autumn leaves had made a home around her person was  _too_  much. Dukat wasn't really sure quite how long he could take it.

Cardassia certainly was  _not_  spinning in his favour today.

How could it be that he topped up is mobile yesterday and now it was out of credit? He started to wonder whether or not there really was a god. The Bajorans'  _Prophets_  were  _really_  starting to lose favour with him. He picked up the device and weighed it in his hands. He unlocked it and opened the messaging application. He typed a few words and chose the receiver to be Major Kira and pressed 'send', but the phone would not oblige. It beeped at him, signifying the lack of credit. Angrily, he slammed the metal device onto the console before him.

"For the love of the Prophets!" the Gul exclaimed with easily discernible contempt.

Just as he was thinking thing couldn't get any worse for him, one of his most hated people turned up. "Dukat?" the voice asked, as annoyingly innocent and simple as ever. "Don't do that."

Dukat lifted his head up and sulkily picked up the phone. He glared at the insufferable Vorta.

"You'll scratch the console," Weyoun said scathingly. He took a PADD from a Jem'Hadar. Now, they were  _another_  group of people who Dukat found very hard to put up with. Of course, the Jem'Hadar's organisation and obedience was on a level that Dukat could only ever dream of, but that was the closest it would get to reality. Jem'Hadar were stupid clones, bred for fighting; Cardassians were unique and intelligent and each member of their race was important in their own way.

Dukat made an annoyed face as the Vorta turned away. He fiddled with his phone, flicking through applications and web pages, contacts and message threads. He looked up as Damar came to his side. "You look annoyed, sir," the Glinn observed.

_Really, Damar?_  Dukat wanted to ask. He controlled himself. He was  _more_  than annoyed. He was  _more_  than miffed. "Damar," Dukat said firmly, holding the phone and looking him in the eye, "Just answer me this: Where does all the credit  _go?"_

Damar smirked. "I think you know where," he quipped.

Dukat scowled at his second in command. Damar could truly be a testing man sometimes. " _Damar?"_  he prompted the man.

Damar nodded, as if realising that he had been asked a question. "I don't know, sir. I have the same problem with mine," he explained, gesturing to his own phone as he brought it out of the pocket of his trousers.

Dukat spun his device around absentmindedly in his hand. He pursed his lips in thought. He keyed in the top-up number and called it, bringing the phone up to his ear.

_"Hello and welcome to the Lakat Mobile Network top-up line. If you would like to top-up, press one."_

And, so, Dukat keyed into the appropriate number, so as to ensure that the voice didn't get ahead of itself and continue asking other questions.

_"You said one, is that correct?"_

Dukat groaned in impatience. He brought the device back up to his ear and said tightly, "Yes." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Damar smirking indiscreetly.

_"What are the first four digits of your card number?"_

Dukat sighed. Again. "Four. Seven. Nine. Four."

_"You said: four. Seven. Nine. Four."_  The computerised voice paused. _"Is that correct?"_

"Yes," Dukat muttered, before repeating it louder, so as to spare himself the pain of going through that rigmarole again.

_"What is the expiry date printed on the back of your card?"_  Yet another question.

Dukat thought about that question for a moment. As he sifted through the myriad of vaguely useful facts and blatantly useless knowledge in his head, he came across the information. "Stardate 4865.5."

_"You said stardate 4865.5."_  A pause. " _Is that correct?"_

Dukat gripped the phone tighter, very nearly losing the will to live. "Yes," he snapped.

_"Please enter the amount by which you wish to top-up."_  That question was salvation for Dukat. The last one. Calmly, he sighed.

Therefore, Gul Dukat entered in the amount. Twenty leks. The phone buzzed a little and the computerised voice on the other end of the line said harshly,  _"Your top-up has been successful. Thank you for using Lakat Mobile Networks. If you would like to-"_

Dukat cut the automated voice off briskly in mid-sentence. He smiled happily to himself, and Damar raised an eye-ridge at him.

At least  _that_  was over.


	7. The Camping Trip

They trudged down the mountainous forest path, dodging stray rocks and loose pebbles, stepping over twigs strewn everywhere.

"Someone really ought to tidy up this path," Weyoun muttered, casting a critical eye over the ground beneath their feet.

Damar scoffed. "I thought Vorta couldn't appreciate that sort of thing," he pointed out.

Weyoun eyed him. "Since when is noticing cleanliness a factor of aesthetics?"

Defeated, Damar harrumphed and fell back on his course. He heard Dukat walking behind him.

"I would appreciate it if you two could offer me a hand," the Gul said tightly, glaring a little at them both. He groaned in discomfiture as he adjusted the rucksack's position on his back.

Weyoun, however, was off someplace skipping in the distance. Damar looked at his commanding officer. "Tell me,  _whose_  wonderful idea was this?"

Dukat scowled. "Captain Sisko."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Damar muttered, rolling his blue eyes.

"Dukat!" the little Vorta's high-pitched voice called out from over a ridge.

The two Cardassians approached the hill and walked over it - it was only small. They came to a denser area of forest. Damar hated how Weyoun would never include him. It pissed him off massively, not that he cared in the slightest about what the insufferable clone thought or said of him.

Taking the rucksack off his back, Dukat put his hands on his hips and exhaled loudly. "Yes, this _is_  rather a good spot, isn't it?"

Weyoun nodded eagerly, and then looked at Damar.

Dukat, also, cast his gaze over in the direction of his second in command. "What do  _you_  think, Damar?" he asked innocently.

"I  _think,_  I don't want to be here," Damar snapped, folding his arms defiantly.

Dukat raised an amused, perturbed eye ridge. "Damar, don't be such a spoilsport."

Damar ignored Dukat's words and instead plonked himself down on a large loose tree stump.

Dukat sighed - for, he knew there was very little chance that even  _he_  could successfully talk the stoic, rash Damar out of or into a choice.

Dukat reached into the rucksack and began to draw out the things that were necessary to build a tent.

To his surprise, and slight annoyance, Weyoun came striding over. He didn't crouch down and read the instructions like Dukat was presently doing. He was, however, standing over the Gul, eyeing the sulking Damar and deliberating in his head as to where to place the tent.

Dukat flipped the PADD around and tapped at it furiously. He groaned in frustration. Instructions in every language except Cardassian,  _and_  their universal translators were experiencing a malfunction. He slammed it onto the leafy, muddy ground.

Weyoun frowned, puzzled but intrigued. He often saw people argue and fight and die, but never get as annoyed as much as Dukat did.

"Dukat?" Weyoun asked, hands clasped behind his back. "It's getting dark."

Dukat didn't need a Vorta to tell him it was getting dark. He wasn't blind, like the Vorta practically were. He was Cardassian; he could feel the cold intensely, even through his broad uniform cuirass.

Dukat began to pull out the tent equipment and spread it out on the forest floor.

Damar looked up, and Dukat silently asked him to assist him. Damar grudgingly got to his feet and approached Dukat, hunkering down to flick through the pages on the PADD.

"You've put that in the wrong place," he said to Dukat, pointing to a metal rod that Dukat had somehow rammed into a sheet of fabric. Dukat rolled his eyes as he watched Damar set the issues straight.

"Oh, for Prophets' sake!" Dukat cursed, throwing down one of the rods in a fit of temper.

Damar stayed sat down, hovering, but waved a support pole at his commanding officer. "Dukat, calm down. I think its almost done."

Dukat said nothing, only gave him a wry smile.

Damar gestured to a plastic pole. "Pass me that." Dukat did so, and Damar promptly stuck it in place.

Finally completed, their tent was reasonably large, but pretty snug inside. There was enough space for three, maybe four small sleeping spaces.

Weyoun grinned, but not really out of appreciation. "This is marvellous," he announced happily. He didn't particularly mean what he had just said - he didn't know how good the tent actually looked, nor did he really care.

Dukat stood up and stretched his back, moaning in discomfiture. He rubbed his hands and couldn't help a smile.

Leader of Cardassia. Prefect of Bajor. Father of nine. And, now... Builder of tents.

He rolled out the three sleeping bags and handed two of them out to Damar and Weyoun. The pair took the sleeping bags tentatively. Damar sorted his out straight away, the movements complete with a little swears thrown in here and there. Weyoun, though, was much more hesitant in sorting his sleeping bag out.

Dukat had already done his, having now placed it in a space of the tent that was closet to the exit.

As night fell, the cool air came too. Dukat lay in his sleeping bag drifting slowly off to sleep. He knew he only had himself to blame - after all, it was he who chose to sleep closest to the exit. Still, a chilly breeze for a few nights was much more favourable in comparison to spending the nights surrounded by Damar and Weyoun, listening to their constant bickering.

Damar, beside him, was sleeping soundly. Well, metaphorically speaking. He was snoring like nobody's business, murmuring random things in his sleep.

Quiet - for the most part - did not entirely fall upon the sleeping company. Weyoun had sunk that ship long ago.

Dukat woke up, his eyes aching. He couldn't sleep. "Weyoun, is that you?" he asked wearily.

The Vorta shook his head. "I don't know what you mean, but that annoying whining and snoring is Damar."

Dukat held back a tiny chuckle. "I don't think I like sleeping alone."

Weyoun raised an eyebrow. "I do hope that's not an invitation."

Dukat paled. "Oh, Prophets, no! Don't flatter yourself." He curled up in his sleeping bag and sighed.

"Damar still stinks of that Kanar," Weyoun said randomly.

Dukat nodded, as much he could while lying down on the movement restricting sleeping bag.

Damar must've heard them. He grunted and partially sat up, propping himself up on one elbow. "Huh?"

Weyoun smiled at him, a movement that made Damar judder all over. "Nothing that concerns you, dear Damar."

Damar harrumphed and reached into his bag, taking out a small bottle. Weyoun sighed when he saw what it was. Damar brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed the entire contents in one go. He put it safely away, and was unsurprised to see Dukat and Weyoun glaring at him.

"The entire tent will stink now," Dukat declared, looking reasonably miffed.

Damar's jaw stiffened. "It helps me sleep."

Weyoun smiled wryly. "Dukat?" he asked softly, once Damar had fallen asleep again - probably helped by the Kanar. "Why does Damar drink?"

Dukat moaned and awoke, thanks to Weyoun elbowing him. He kept his eyes closed, though. "Go to sleep, Weyoun, he murmured, his face buried in his pillow.

Weyoun was silent for a few wonderful minutes.

"Dukat?" Silence. "Dukat, I can't sleep! Dukat!"


	8. A Walk in the Park

"This is nice isn't it?" Gul Dukat posed the question to his company. He looked around himself and smiled a self-satisfactory smile. He breathed in the fresh, cool air through his nostrils and sighed happily.

Walking next to him, Weyoun emitted a sad-sounding exhale. A slight frown creased his pale brow. "I would concur, if the Founders had bestowed upon me the ability to appreciate aesthetics and smell and taste," he muttered to himself.

Dukat grinned triumphantly and slapped the Vorta on the back. "Oh, Weyoun, look on the bright side!" he declared cheerfully – too cheerfully.

Weyoun raised an eyebrow, looking up. "The bright side of  _what_  exactly?" he asked the Cardassian.

The Gul rubbed his chin in thought and took a quick, nonetheless thoughtfully glance up at the blue sky. "Of  _life,_  Weyoun," he elaborated.

"And," Weyoun said huffily. _"How_  exactly do you propose I do that?"

Dukat shrugged his broad shoulders, the movement barely discernible due to his large uniform curiass. "I'm no expert in matters of the mind," he began, "being a leader, a soldier, a—"

Weyoun had heard enough. He held up a silencing hand. "Thank you, Dukat," he said with fake ingratiation. "But, I think I am better off asking  _Damar_  over there for advice regarding looking on the 'bright side'."

Dukat said little, only glared at him, his bright teal eyes boring into Weyoun's disinterested ones. "I was only trying to help, Weyoun," he snapped.

The clone frowned at him, and then dropped his pace; he was having trouble keeping up with Dukat's long strides anyway. So, he saw Dukat saunter off into the distance, doing whatever it was that he did. Weyoun paused his pace for a moment to think about it. That was a bad idea, Weyoun thought, trembling in disgust and confusion. Somewhere behind them, ambling as slow as a Terran tortoise, was Damar.

Weyoun wondered why he was so slow. After all, he was taller than Weyoun, and thus, had longer legs. Going by logic, Weyoun concluded, Damar should be able to walk quicker. However, that decision was worth little when Damar's pace slowed even more, becoming nothing more than aimless wandering. The Vorta also wondered what Damar was doing back there. So, he spun on his heel and regarded the other Cardassian.

"Oh,  _Damar!"_  Weyoun called out in a singsong voice.

The soldier looked up and instantly became alert. His face dropped when he figured out that Weyoun had been calling him. "What do you want, Weyoun?" he demanded.

Weyoun smiled innocently, as was customary when he felt like annoying Damar. He always felt like annoying Damar. It was just too easy and too fun. "Dukat would like to speak with you," he replied.

Damar raised a curious, incredulous eye-ridge, but let it go. He stormed up the path, past the rippling pond, past the waddling ducks, past the abandoned benches. "Yes?" he called out to Dukat.

Dukat turned around to face him, three hundred metres away. "Damar?" he called back in partial alarm.

"Sir, Weyoun said you wanted to talk to me," Damar said, now starting to get perplexed, himself.

Dukat smiled wryly. Damar studied his face and then growled in frustration. "Oh, Weyoun, you bastard," he muttered.

The Vorta clone approached them, his hands draped behind his back. "Gentlemen," he said politely. "Having a bit of bother?"

Dukat glared at him. "Weyoun, don't tease my first officer," he warned him.

In spite of the Gul's words, Weyoun simply beamed. "Of course, Dukat," he said dutifully. "But... I give the orders here." He tilted his chin up nobly.

Damar rolled his eyes and scowled. "You do, do you?"

"Do you want me to inform the Founder of your disbelief in the commanding dysfunctions of her first adjutant?" Weyoun asked mockingly.

Dukat put out a hand, blocking Damar from punching the Vorta out cold. "Now, now, calm yourselves," he said.

"I  _am_  calm," Damar countered blankly, his fists balled and teeth clenched.

Dukat raised his hands to his temples. He sighed, then waved dismissively. "I'm gonna go. You two can sort out your differences, or what _ever."_  He then wheeled around and left them to their own devices.

Damar grunted - or something similar - then sighed.

"You look so much different without the Kanar," Weyoun observed.

Damar, though, just ignored him.

"Damar," Weyoun said in his annoyingly cherubic voice. "You answer to me."

He snorted. "No. I answer to Dukat and the Union."

Weyoun shook his head and waggled an accusing finger in the Cardassian's direction. "You don't," he argued. "We all answer to the the Founder, but that includes me. You and your kind-" He smiled insufferably "-are at the low point of the scale."

Damar pretended that he had not heard the clone, but he did. He stormed off and sat on a bench some tends of metres away.

Weyoun clasped his hands together and grinned in pure, ill-deserved self-satisfaction.

The Cardassian shook his head in annoyance. He frowned, his thick eye-ridges almost coming together. God, how he hated that Vorta. That annoying, insufferable, rude, arrogant, idiotic diplomat. He reached down to the side and expected his hand to come across a bottle. He cursed under his breath when he found no Kanar.

Some way away, Weyoun was ambling slowly down the path. He was still struggling to see what exactly Dukat - and apparently many others - found so beautiful, so mesmerising, so thought-provoking about the area. It was green. There were trees and bushes and grass. There were little birds tweeting and swooping. There were insects scurrying about on the paving stones; rabbits, deer and squirrels padding along. There was light from the main sequence star that reflected on the surface of the rippling pond.

Weyoun noted down each of those elements, but they all seemed the same to him. Obviously, there were different species and different colours, but they all elicited the same emotional response from him. He sighed and a twinge of sadness befell him.


	9. At the Bus Stop

The bus stop was crowded. Not by a huge degree, but reasonably so. Rain was hammering down, making harsh pattering noises on the glass exterior of the otherwise shielded shelter. The sky was clouded with dark wisps, but the sun was still trying to get through.

Stood at the bus stop, Damar was grumbling. He had his arms folded defensibly over his cuirassed chest. He continually mumbled and groaned. Sometimes, he would swear at the tempestuous weather, others, he would simply shuffle his feet.

"Will you stop that?" Dukat said huffily to his second in command. He eyes Damar, waiting for his respective answer.

Damar lifted up his tired, annoyed head to face the Gul. "Stop what, sir?" he asked, actually not knowing what the cause of the question had been.

Dukat frowned at his first officer. "Those..." He flapped his hands, somewhat at a loss as to how to explain Damar's sounds of frustration. "Noises!" he finished.

Damar shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Sorry, sir," he said half-heartedly. One part of him was thankful that it had been Dukat - his actual commander - who had told him off, and not Weyoun. The other part was annoyed all the same.

Slowly, Dukat nodded. "Good."

Weyoun was not under the shelter, where he would invariably stay dry and positively warm. He was, instead, waltzing about outside the shelter. He would stand still for a brief second, holding out his hand so that a splat of precipitation would fall and make contact with his skin. Other times, he would shift about in odd movements and state up at the gloomy sky.

"Weyoun," Dukat called out to him. He shook his head in slightly amused dismay.

The Vorta stopped his prancing and looked at the Gul, giving him a questioning look.

The Cardassian pointed to his side. "Come here. Stop dancing in the rain." He glared at him.

Damar lifted an eye-ridge, but refrained himself from saying anything.

Weyoun shrugged, but likely only listened to Dukat because he was beginning to get bored. He joined the two Cardassians under the bus shelter.

Damar grumbled something undesirable as he shifted to the side to allow Weyoun to squeeze in.

"Have you checked the timetable?" Weyoun asked.

To his perversely pleased surprise, it was Damar who answered. "Be patient," he said gruffly. "ETA is one minute."

Weyoun nodded. "I don't think I can wait much longer than that," he commented.

Sure enough, sixty Terran seconds later, their transport arrived. They stepped onto the red bus.

"You go first," Weyoun said politely to Damar.

The Cardassian studied him curiously, then nodded curtly. He boarded the bus, paid, then took a seat.

Then, Weyoun looked at Gul Dukat. "Dukat," he said, stepping back.

Dukat nodded and proceeded onto the bus. He joined Damar.

It was Weyoun's turn to board now, and he stepped on. He could have sworn he felt it dip slightly as he set his weight on it. He paused, looking as curious as always, then stepped forward. The driver watched him with what looked like tired eyes.

"Can I help you?" the driver asked him.

Weyoun fumbled for currency, and eventually, he pulled out five slips of latinum. He proffered them to the driver.

"Where is it you wish to go?"

Weyoun frowned and then looked over at Dukat and Damar, who ere sat together near the back of the bus. "Where are we going?" the diplomat called out to them.

This time, it was Dukat who replied.

Weyoun relayed the information to the driver, who nodded absentmindedly. "Two slips," the driver said.

The Vorta nodded and handed over the appropriate tender. He then took his change, took a seat opposite Damar and Dukat. He beamed at them and they both let out similar groans of annoyance.

"Who are you texting?" Weyoun asked Dukat.

The Cardassian looked up at him. He frowned. "Weyoun, it is none of your business."

"How many times must I remind you?" Weyoun asked sardonically. "You answer to me, while Cardassia is a member of the Dominion, which it always will be."

Gul Dukat rolled his eyes and threw a 'help me' look at Damar, who only smirked. Em he quite enjoyed it when other people were on the receiving end of the annoying Vorta's speeches.

Dukat harrumphed.

"Well?" Weyoun pressed.

"No one you know," Dukat finally answered, after a moment's thought.

Weyoun smiled wryly. He leant forward in his seat and looked over Dukat's shoulder, which got him a groan fell the Cardassian. "Kira?" Weyoun said, frowning. "You're still in contact with her?"

Dukat nodded slowly, looking a little confused. "So what?" he asked wearily.

Weyoun shrugged and gave him that insufferable smile of contentment and ill-deserved self-satisfaction. "So nothing," he simply replied. "It was merely an observation."

"Observation my ass," Dukat scoffed.

"I think the journey time is two hours," Weyoun informed them after a time.


	10. A Little Lost Vorta

"Where shall I sit?" Weyoun asked Dukat jovially, pointing to the vehicle which was parked in front of him, which he presumed was a car.

Dukat considered and them gestured to a seat at the back, on be side. Weyoun tool a quick look around the surroundings. The sky was blue. There were few clouds. The birds were tweeting. Then, he stepped into the car.

Damar, stood beside Dukat, frowned. "He didn't  _have_  to come, you know," he muttered.

Dukat have his friend a wry smile and then said, "Are you coming with us or not?"

Damar circled the car and went to sit in the front passenger seat, but Dukat waved him back. Damar looked at him, puzzled. "Sir?"

"You can sit in the back today," Dukat explained.

"What?" he stuttered. _"Why?"_

"Oh,  _relax,_  Damar," Dukat said reassuringly. "It won't be  _that_  bad. You won't be there for long, anyway."

Damar considered Dukat's words, pursing his lips thoughtfully. Begrudgingly, he sat in the back, though not directly beside Weyoun.

"Has everyone got their seat-belts on?" Gul Dukat called over his shoulder, not bothering to even so much as turn around a little. He smirked, somewhat enjoying belittling his colleagues.

He heard a low sound and realised it was Damar grunting for some as yet undisclosed reason.

"Yes, we're ready to go," the ever-triumphant voice of Weyoun called back to Dukat, in prompt acknowledgment of the question.

Nodding, Dukat strapped himself in. He reached up, to open the sun-blocker and examined his reflection. He grinned.  _Lookin' fine,_  he thought to himself.

Weyoun, leaning forward in his seat, noticed Dukat's self-appreciative gaze. He frowned. "I don't mean to interrupt," he said condescendingly, "but can you stop preening for one moment and  _drive?"_

Dukat snapped his head around and glared at the already frustrating Vorta. Weyoun sat back in his seat, where his gaze was met with a glower from Damar. Finally, Dukat settled back into the driver's seat and smiled in early self-satisfaction.

Slotting in the key, turning it, and pushing forward, the vehicle's engine choked and spluttered, until it final came online. Dukat flexed his slender hands on the black steering wheel and paused for a moment. He looked up and flipped the sun-blocker back up into its proper position. Pushing the handbrake forward firmly, the car lurched forward, and Dukat was sure that he could hear Weyoun moaning about something or another. With one hand on the clutch, and the other planted on the steering wheel, he changed gear and the car left its position on the side of the road.

No longer stationary, the vehicle began to crawl along the highway, its spies steadily increasing.

Damar muttered something discreetly. Weyoun didn't hear it. Or, if even if he  _did,_  he was too busy giggling at the other cars passing by alongside them.

Dukat, though, did hear it. And, he let it be known. Looking out the corner of his eye, being careful to still keep his eye on the busy road ahead, he managed to display an unfavourable look in Damar's direction.

Dukat's second in command felt the Gul's teal eyes piercing into him.

Putting a stop to Damar's uncomfortable silence, Dukat pressed, "Damar, what did you say?"

Squirming in his seat a little, Damar grunted. "Nothing, sir."

Dukat turned his full attention, more or less, back to the road ahead and the blurring traffic that was all around them, but kept glancing back up at the mirror. "Damar," he spoke authoritatively. "If you have something to say, _say it."_

Damar sighed. He picked a bottle of something out of a bag that was resting at his side, in the centre seat that was between him and Weyoun. It was like a barrier. The two of them needed a barrier at most times. Fingering the bottle thoughtfully, Damar answered, "I just don't think there's any point in this..." His face screwed up in discomfiture. "Outing," he finished.

Gruffly, Dukat laughed, then sighed. "Oh, Damar. You need to get out more," he explained. Catching sight of the amused expression of the clone, he added, "So does Weyoun." The smug expression on the Vorta's face was wiped away promptly.

Damar raised an eye ridge. "So do you," he said, without putting much thought into his words. "All you do all day is pine after major Kira."

Dukat's hands tightened around the steering wheel. His shoulders tensed, but he huffed out a breath of relief. "Now, now, Damar," he said calmly. "Is it so hard for you to have a nice time?" He glanced at the Kanar bottle that his friend had gripped tightly in his hand, and almost frowned. He thought otherwise when he recalled his very own fondness for the beverage.

That kept Damar quiet. For some time, at least.

Dukat concentrated back on his task of being the designated driver, whilst Damar swigged his Kanar and stared absent mindedly at random places around him. A spot on the tarmac. A sheep in a field. The indicators going off on other cars.

Weyoun, too, was watching out of the less than clean windows. The dirtiness of the supposedly transparent thing, started to bug him. It intrigued him, actually, to some extent. "Dukat?" he called over the whoosh of the passing air and the road of the engine.

The Cardassian sighed. "Yes, Weyoun?"

"I may be mistaken, but aren't windows meant to be transparent?" Weyoun asked innocently.

The simplicity of Weyoun's voice frustrated Dukat. "I just haven't gotten around to cleaning them yet," he replied, failing to truly understand why he has chosen to justify his actions - or lack of actions - to that insufferable clone.

Weyoun nodded thoughtfully. He paused to look over at a particularly withdrawn looking Damar and then out of the widow beside his seat again. He looked up at the sky. "The clouds on Kerrill Prime never look like these ones," he observed.

Damar downed the last of his Kanar and then glanced over at Weyoun. "Maybe because its a different planet," he said scathingly.

Weyoun ignored the rudeness of Damar remark. "I think you're forgetting that you work for the Dominion," he said to Damar, with a broad smirk on his face.

Groaning, Damar turned away from the clone. He searched his bag for more Kanar, but it seemed that he had either forgotten to pack as much as he wanted, or - and more likely - he had drunk a lot more than he thought he had.

"It's awfully quiet in here," Dukat announced after some time in the vehicle; the pitch-silence almost deafening them. He reached on hand out and fiddled with the car's stereo system. He turned on the radio, the red dial moving rhythmically in conjunction with the movements of his fingers. Scrolling through he many stations, he frowned, his eye ridges almost meeting. "Do either of you have any music with you?" he asked the two of them.

Damar grinned, but bided his time and waited for Weyoun to offer them an answer.

"Were you talking to me?" Weyoun questioned, looking adorably confused.

Dukat nodded, though Weyoun couldn't really see the movement from where he was sitting. "Yes, Weyoun," the Gul told the diplomat.

"Well..." Weyoun started, smiling. "You see, we Vorta don't possess music preferences."

"Sounds rather boring if you ask me," Damar retorted.

"No one's asking you, Damar," Weyoun chided. "And, the glorious Founders deemed it useless. They wouldn't forget. Gods can't forget."

"Shame," Damar muttered.

Almost starting to feel as though he were the only adult in the situation, Dukat quickly changed gear, upping the speed of the car, and glanced up at Damar in the mirror. "Any offerings, Damar?" he asked expectantly.

Damar shrugged. "I have a few."

"Then, by all means, tell us," Dukat prompted him.

Damar looked a little uncomfortable. He rubbed his temples in uncertainty then frowned. "I... uh, perhaps we should stick to the radio." Out of the corner of his eye, he could make out the small form of an amused Weyoun.

"No, Damar," Dukat said theatrically. "Tell us." He enjoyed tainted him.

Begrudgingly, Damar shoved his hand into his bag and began to pull out some discs. Weyoun, as curious as the day his illustrious progenitor stepped out of the cloning facility all those years ago, leant toward him and began to look through the assortment of discs. Damar reached over and snatched the discs that Weyoun has acquired, carefully putting them back in his stash. He began to read out the titles. Of some of them, anyway."Metallica," he said. "Iron Maiden. Led Zepplin." He paused, waiting for Weyoun and Dukat's respective responses. Maybe Cardassians were just fond of that material, metal, Weyoun mused.

"They're... different," Dukat announced. He wasn't even sure why he was surprised by what Damar had just said. Dukat had had to while away many a day on Terok Nor, listening to Damar's favourite music.

Weyoun smiled broadly. "They all sound very interesting," he exclaimed appealingly. "Play them all!"

Dukat hit himself on the forehead with his hand.  _Why do all of Damar's favourite songs have to be in excess of seven minutes long?_

Dama passed the discs over to Dukat, who waved them away. "I can't put them in yet," Dukat explained to him. "Take them out of the cases."

Damar complied and then handed them over to Dukat, who blindly reached behind himself to take the discs. He put one of the discs in and sighed when Damar began singing along - not very well - to the song that was playing.

Weyoun, as usual, was sat with an air of simplicity surrounding him. His peculiar ears almost pricked up as the song continued. "This is most exciting," he announced happily, loudly, briskly clapping his hands once.

Damar almost smiled. Almost. He tapped his knee and nodded along to the beat.

_'Pour some sugar on me_

_Ooh, in the name of love_

_Pour some sugar on me_

_C'mon, fire me up_

_Pour your sugar on me_

_Oh, I can't get enough'_

Weyoun frowned. "I thought sugar was food," he observed with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Why would you pour sugar on someone?"

Dukat sniggered to himself, as did Damar. Dukat, however soon sobered and his expression became neutral. Then slightly frantic. "What turning was I supposed to take?" he asked, knitting his brow.

Rather unhelpfully, Damar shrugged. "You're the driver," he said. "Don't you know?"

Dukat rolled his aquamarine eyes. "Damar, you're not helping."

"I think we passed it," Weyoun told Dukat.

Dukat moaned in sheer annoyance. He changed gear and was about to pull onto the hard shoulder when Damar told him otherwise. "I don't think that's wise. The cops will be over pretty quick."

"So?" Weyoun pressed, still rather confused.

"Damar's right," Dukat added. "Once they smell all that Kanar, they'll be into us quicker than you can say 'Praise the Founders'."

Weyoun looked puzzled for a moment, and then nodded slowly. "Ah, I see."

Dukat rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his hand running smoothly over the small ridges there. He pulled out onto a side road and the car continued its trundling journey there. "So,  _no one_  knows where the turning was," he said, sounding annoyed and confused.

"We're lost," Weyoun announced, looking glum.

Damar smirked. "You scared?"

Weyoun huffed and ignored him.

Stopping the SUV, Dukat undid his seatbelt and sighed exasperatedly. He turned off the stereo, leaving Damar to moan and mutter to himself. "Lets try and, uh, get our bearings," he suggested.

He got our of the car and searched around, his position remaining static.

Damar, too, stepped out of the car. "This is so ridiculous," he murmured.

"Damar, stop complaining," Weyoun scolded him as he also vacated the vehicle.

Damar sneered at him, the Kanar starting to take its full effect.

As their petty argument continued, it escalated. Dukat was too busy trying to get them out of the mess to take in all of the remarks spoken and topics touched, but he was certain he heard talk of Weyoun's frustrating mannerisms, his rude, but cherubic words; Damar's continual state of self-pity, his drunken ways, his abundant but failing love life.

At last, and Dukat wasn't even sure how long it had been. Minutes. Hours. Days...? He shook his head dismissively. "Will you two stop that infernal bickering?!" he demanded.

Weyoun crossed his arms over his chest. "Dukat,  _you_  don't tell me what to do. You answer to me, and, of course-" he paused and smiled when he added, "The Founders."

Dukat rolled his eyes. "I don't  _care,_  Weyoun. That's at times of war." He eyed the Vorta closely. "Right now, though, we aren't at war..." He took another look at the guilty looks on Damar and Weyoun's faces. "...Yet." Then, he turned his attention to Damar, once he was satisfied that Weyoun was probably going to keep his mouth shut - for the time being, at least. "And, Damar," he said. "I expected better of you."

Apologetically, but annoyed and disgusted that he - Dukat's closest friend and most trusted crew member - would be given the same as someone like Weyoun.

"You be a good little soldier," Weyoun couldn't resist saying.

Damar was very, very close to striking the smug Vorta across the face. So, Dukat stepped in. "Right. That's it!" He stood between the two of them. "Damar, calm down and find something to preoccupy yourself with. Call the roadside rescue or something."

Damar obeyed sulkily and did so, before flicking through his abundance of music discs.

Then, it was Weyoun turn to be interrogated by Dukat. "Stop aggravating Damar," he told Weyoun firmly. "And, go sit in the car. See of you can plan out our route, and work out where exactly we went wrong."

Weyoun glared at him, but started to get back in the car. Then, at the last minute, he spun on his heel and faced Dukat. "You two can try and find a way back. I'm going to try and find help." He scowled at Damar."Myself." He knew it was a mistake, letting the Cardassians join the illustrious Dominion. They weren't fit for it.

Dukat outstretched his arms, beckoning silently for Weyoun to stop walking away. "Don't be stupid Weyoun," he called after him. "It's late and it'll be getting dark spoon."

Weyoun stopped walking and seemed to consider his position for a moment. "I am more efficient than you two," he decided saying for no particular reason.

Frowning, unconvinced, Damar asked loudly, "In what way?"

"In every way needed," Weyoun promptly replied. He stomped away from the car, into the quickly falling falling darkness of the woods.

"You're not doing to go after him, are you?" Damar asked his command officer.

Dukat said or did nothing for a short while, giving himself time to think the situation over. "No. He'll be back."

"Because," Damar muttered, picking his teeth. "I am  _not_  going to get him."

Night was fast approaching. Damar, it seemed, was not quite as resilient as his commanding officer when it came to withstanding the cold. He shivered and shuddered, clutching his elbows with the opposite hands.

"Damar, will you  _stop_  that?" Dukat asked him, trying to be polite, but, honestly, he couldn't care less whether or not he sounded polite at that moment in time.

Dukat's cutting tone woke Damar up from his state of self-pity. "Sir, its  _too cold_  here," he declared with barely covered contempt, his words mere stutters due to the cold.

Dukat nodded and surveyed the area. "Then..." He paused, considering. "Go get back in the car."

"That's what I've been doing for the past fifteen minutes!" Damar snapped angrily.

Rolling his eyes, Dukat bore an unusually thoughtful expression. "Stop moaning, then," he ordered. They weren't on duty, meaning that Dukat couldn't actually issue orders to his subordinate officers. He was too tired, too annoyed and too cold to care, though.

Damar harrumphed in annoyance and sat back in the car, flexing his fingers.

Outside the vehicle, Dukat was still very much thoughtful. He, like Damar, didn't care much for that irritating Vorta Weyoun, but he wouldn't go so far as to say he actually hated him. Damar hated many things; Dukat didn't. Besides, there was no way on Cardassia that Dukat was going to feel the wrath of that indomitable Founder again. Once was certainly more than enough.

He paced about on the side of the dirt road track.

"Please, Dukat," Damar called out to him, his tone edging on desperation. "Can't we just l _eave?"_

Dukat simply glared at him at first. "No, Damar," he then answered slowly. "We cannot just leave." If he lost the Founder's favourite adjutant, he knew he would not live to see another day.

"This is-" Damar cut himself off with a loud grunt. "Lets just  _go_  already."

Dukat, however, wasn't having any of it. He shook his head, still mulling the matter over.

"Dukat," Damar said firmly. "You're a solider, a leader, not a search and rescue worker."

"You've met the Founder," Dukat said icily. "You know exactly what she'll do to both of us if we lose her chief adjutant."

Damar frowned. And then he sighed. "Her precious Weyoun," he muttered with contempt.

Ignoring the sarcasm in his friend's voice, Dukat agreed. "Precisely." He sat back in the car and shut the door, leaving it to slam. Loudly. The noise almost jolted the slumping, grumpy, Damar from his position.

"What are you doing?" Damar asked, perplexed.

Dukat tuned on the car's headlights and indictor, putting the car into drive. He pulled off the slim road, the gravel churning under the wheels.

"We're actually going to  _find_  him?" Damar asked.

Dukat nodded and looked at Damar closely for a moment through the mirror. "Its either in the car or we walk," he offered.

"Option one," Damar answered quickly. "I am not walking."

Dukat smiled wryly. "That's not the kind of response I'd expect from my second in command."

"At least," Damar amended his response, "Not for  _Weyoun."_

Frowning lightly at him, Dukat then set his sights on the road ahead.

"We won't be able to see anything," Damar pointed out gruffly, squinting in the darkness that was quickly enveloping them and their surroundings.

Dukat shrugged in response. "We might as well try." He wasn't going to let a missing Vorta stain his record. "It's not like you to give up."

"I haven't  _given up,"_  Damar retorted. "I just never tried in the first place."

Letting that comment slide past undisturbed, Dukat slowed the car's speed, with a quick flick of the gear stick. The vehicle seemed to grunt in delight; the fast speeds at which it had previously been travelling at were quite obviously too fast for its chugging engine to keep up.

"Wait..." Damar whispered. Pressing his face against the glass of the SUV's window, he noticed movement in the bushes that rang alongside the dirt track.

"What?" Dukat asked, his tone questioning.

"I think I saw something," Damar said quietly, still trying to look out of the window with as little effort as possible. He wanted sleep. And Kanar.

"You're sure?" Dukat, himself, was not particularly convinced.

Damar frowned. "Wait..." he said again. "No," he then decided with a shake of the head. "I think it was a deer or something. Too graceful to be Weyoun." He smirked.

"He's can't be too far," Dukat mused aloud. "His legs aren't long enough to carry himself that long a distance. I'd say he's less than a mile way."

"Yeah, but in what direction?" Damar asked.

"Any," Dukat answered quickly. "But, my instinct tells me-" He paused, rubbing his ridged chin thoughtfully "-left."

Damar rolled his eyes, dubious about Dukat's apocryphal decision. Still, if he angered Dukat too much, he'd have to walk. Damar was not going to consciously let that happen any time soon.

The car's pace was steady, the occasional stone getting caught noisily an bumpily under the wheels.

"Please tell me this isn't  _another_  deer," Dukat moaned after Damar announced that he'd thought he'd seen something yet again.

Damar hushed him. "Dukat," he said. "Look." He pointed straight ahead, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

Dukat craned his neck and quickly realised that the beam of the vehicle's yellowy-cream headlights had fallen on a figure. A humanoid shaped figure.

The person turned around, squinting their eyes in response to the intense light and head that the headlights gave out. He brought his hand up to his forehead, shielding his painfully sensitive eyes.

It was then that Dukat realised what, or rather, who it was. The ears were unmistakable. The Gul vacated the vehicle. "Ah, Weyoun!" he announced. "We've found you."

The Vorta studied him incredulously. "You've found me?" he repeated, looking slightly amused.

Nodding, Dukat reiterated, "Yes. Now,  _get in._ " He gestured to the waiting car.

Weyoun, still very much with curious look on his pale face, didn't move. "I didn't ask you to come and look for me," he declared. "Why are you here?"

"Because, quite frankly," Gul Dukat began sternly. "I don't care much for the Founders, or your beliefs. But, the Dominion is vital for Cardassia." He paused, his expression almost painful. "As much as it pains me to say this," he began, swallowing. "You're important to the Dominion. We need you to make this work."

Starting to get impatient and irritated, Damar scoffed. "Just get in the damn car, Weyoun," he snapped. He glanced over at the Gul. "Dukat, we just...  _lost_  him for one moment. Relax."

Dukat glowered at him. If it had been anyone but Damar who had said those words, they would've been receiving more than a simple disapproving look. Dukat and the Vorta then got into the car.

"This isn't a big deal, you know," Damar said to Dukat reassuringly. "He just did that to piss you off."

"He has succeeded," Dukat added. He turned the car back on and they continued their journey.

"It's a little silent in here, don't you think?" Weyoun observed.

Dukat, realising that a worn-out Damar was fast asleep, snoring like an oversized Klingon targ, decided that it would be he himself having to answer the clone's endless strong of queries and listen to all of the endless complaints. "Lets keep it that way," Dukat muttered.

"I'd rather we listened to one of those... songs again," Weyoun suggested jovially.

Dukat had his finger poised over the play button of the stereo system, but drew it back slightly when Weyoun spoke yet again. "No, don't play Damar's choices," the Vorta diplomat ordered. "I don't think my poor ears could take anymore of it."

Dukat rolled his eyes and snickered quietly to himself. He'd never really envisioned Weyoun as a metalhead. "What should we put on then?" Dukat asked, exasperatedly.

Weyoun rubbed his chin, slowly mulling the matter over. "I'll look through your collection."

_Prophets, does his curiosity know no bounds?_  Dukat didn't want him to do so, but he knew he needed to keep his undivided attention on the road ahead. He would not crash his brand new car.

And so, Weyoun thumbed through the record discs that Dukat had, reading the peculiar titles over and over in his head. At last, he found one, handing it over to Dukat.

Dukat stared at the cover, one hand on the wheel. He burst out laughing. "I don't think this is... appropriate, Weyoun," he warned.

"Appropriate for whom?" Weyoun asked innocently.

"Suit yourself," Dukat said slyly. He took out  _Def Leppar_ d and slot in the disk that Weyoun had chosen.

_'Relax don't do it_

_When you want to go to it_

_Relax don't do it_

_When you want to come_

_Relax don't do it_

_When you want to come_

_When you want to come'_

The thunderclap at the beginning of the song roused Damar from his short-lived, drunken snooze. He jolted upright. Rubbing his eyes, he took a small while to register what was happening. He looked over to see Weyoun with the most curious expression. The Vorta looked like he could have been trying to work out the galaxy's hardest maths problem. Then, it dawned on him. Weyoun was thinking about the lyrics to the song.


End file.
